Supply Run
by playswithworms
Summary: Protectobot Beginnings AU - In which Blades needs snuggles. The Aerialbots take Blades on a supply run, but have a hard time remembering just how young he really is.


Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N - Takes place shortly after the events in "Protectobot Beginnings: Shield" (also recommended background reading, if you're unfamiliar with P-bot Beginnings-verse: "Separation Anxiety")

* * *

"What do you mean we can't get back until next cycle?" Blades did his best to keep his voice steady.

"The storm changed course on us," Skydive explained. "We're stuck here until it passes. That's why comms aren't working either."

Blades resisted the sudden wild urge to transform, fly back to his brothers and to Pit with what Silverbolt or any of the Aerialbots said. He'd lived most of his life so far on a planet of storms, after all, but rain was different here on Cybertron. It would be folly to risk it, he knew that. He'd never been this far from his brothers before; he'd been holding himself together with the knowledge they'd be bringing back medical supplies for restocking the medbay and to help First Aid, and by counting down every moment until they returned.

"Might as well catch some recharge," Silverbolt recommended. The Aerialbots settled in the hangar with their usual tussling and teasing. Blades didn't join in, finding a place a little apart. He offlined his optics and stretched out his senses through the gestalt link, but all he felt was the background warmth of his brothers' sparks that let him know they were there, alive and well. That should have been enough. It would have to be enough.

Would they know why he hadn't come back yet? What if they were worried, would Streetwise try to come and find him and overheat his engine again? What if First Aid had another short out? What if Groove wandered too far and got lost? He missed Hot Spot and his bright, steady warmth. He missed them all so much. Blades gulped air through his vents and sat up, his spark aching with emptiness and longing. The Aerialbots were silent except for the faint whir and hum of their systems in recharge. Blades stood up quietly; recharge was a lost cause anyway.

~o~

"What the frag are you doing?"

Blades stopped his pacing for a moment to find Slingshot glaring at him from the floor, his optics dim and only half awake. Fireflight was snuggled against his side; the other three were a tangled pile nearby. Blades glared back and then kept pacing.

"What does it look like I'm doing." At least Slingshot had all _his_ brothers around him.

"Well stop it. It's annoying."

Blades considered several answers, feeling his optics burn as the tears he'd been fighting for most of the cycle threatened again. He finally settled for "Frag you, stupid jet." Not the most inspired insult. Maybe thinking up some better ones would help keep his mind off missing his brothers.

Slingshot cursed and tried to scramble to his feet, jostling Fireflight, who squawked in protest and woke up the rest of them.

"Slingshot, what is going on?" Silverbolt demanded, voice irritated and muzzy with recharge.

"Slag if I know!" Slingshot complained. "Just tell Blades to shut up and slagging recharge already!"

Silverbolt looked at Blades and his expression shifted from annoyed to concerned as he took in the helo's weary stance and clenched fists. "Blades? Blades...what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Blades tried to say, but the kindness and worry in Silverbolt's voice made his vocalizer lock up, and the tears were fighting their way free, despite his best efforts.

"Oh, Blades…" Fireflight's face was furrowed in sympathy; he almost looked like he was about to start crying, too. "What's wrong?"

"I"m six kinds of an idiot, is what's wrong," Silverbolt muttered. "Not even a vorn old yet. Blades, have you ever been apart from your brothers before?"

"We've been apart," Blades managed to say, feeling the optic fluid streaking down his faceplates. "Just...not this far. Not...not this long."

The Aerialbots were all looking at him with sudden sympathy and understanding. Even Slingshot looked a bit ashamed of his earlier outburst. It was too much. His vision blurred and Blades stood helplessly, lowering his helm as the first real sobs shook him. There were arms around him, and Blades pressed his face into a chestplate and wept and clung, not caring anymore what any of them thought. He wanted his brothers and Silverbolt wasn't Hot Spot but he was warm and solid, and the others were all there, too, and Fireflight and Air Raid were whispering "it's ok, we know how it is, we understand" in his audios and he cried until he was too tired to cry anymore.

~o~

"Wake up, sleepyhead!" Someone was tapping on his helm. It was annoying. Blades groaned and burrowed his face back into the pleasant warmth and dark.

"Storm's cleared out, we can be on our way. Come on, sleeping beauty, wake up." That was Air Raid's voice. The storm. His brothers! Blades onlined with a start, lifting his head to find he was still clinging tightly to Silverbolt. The Aerialbot commander gave him a warm smile and Fireflight gave him a poke, and Slingshot muttered about his wings being squashed but not as if he really meant it.

"Feeling better?" Skydive asked quietly. Blades nodded as they all untangled themselves and scrambled to their feet. They hastily repacked and reloaded the medical supplies. Blades felt as if his spark were already in flight, winging towards the bright beacon of his brothers even before they transformed.

"Lead the way," Silverbolt told him.

"Forget that!" Slingshot yelled as he threw himself into the air. "Race you back, whirlybird!"

Blades laughed and flung himself into the air after him. "You're gonna eat my exhaust the whole way, you…"

_"Retro-rat with wings,"_ suggested Skydive over comms.

"...you Retro-rat with wings!"

"Why you little...!"

"Shove it up your afterburner, Slag Breath." Slingshot lost altitude as he sputtered, and Blades grinned inwardly. Oh yeah. He was getting the hang of this.

"You're a Titanium Turkeybot!"

"Beryllium Baloney Brain."

~o~

"Slagger."

"Fragger."

"Slagger."

"Fragger."

"Blades?"

"Yeah, what do you want, Fragface?"

"There they are."

And there they were, Hot Spot and Groove and Streetwise and First Aid, standing and jumping and shouting his name as he came into sight. Their joy to see him again sparkled through the gestalt bond until he was giddy with it. He couldn't fly fast enough. At last Blades tumbled down out of the air and into their arms laughing (and never even noticed or cared that he had won the race).


End file.
